Severus Snape didn't fidget, but if he did, he'd have been prodding at the extensive scar tissue on his neck. He had just presented Headmistress Minerva McGonagall with his proposal for Hogwarts' long-term strategy regarding Potions and Defence, and the awkward part would come next.
And by awkward, he meant the part of the plan that would likely involve some very unseemly Gryffindor preening by his superior. He braced himself mentally. There was nothing for it - she was in many ways the ideal candidate, but Minerva wouldn't be able to resist a truly revolting display of glee.
Finally, Minerva removed her spectacles, placing them on the sheafs of parchment she'd been intently reading. She raised her head and met his eyes. His damn scar was itching again, and he resisted the urge to adjust his collar.
"It's a sound plan, Severus. With a little maneuvering, I expect I'll be able to convince the Board of Governors that the expenses are in the long-term interest of the school's pedagogical goals."
He scoffed mentally. The Board of Governors could hang itself for all it knew about pedagogy.
She continued. "And of course, the NEWT scores for Horace's students as compared to yours...ach, it's just as well the man cannot wait to re-enter retirement."
He inclined his head a jot, gracefully acknowledging that Horace Slughorn was, indeed, a self-serving moron of the first order. At least he assumed that was what Minerva was trying to convey. Her Scots bluntness tended to desert her when it came to colleagues (although there had been one notably pink exception).
"Did you have a candidate in mind? Of course, if you don't, I may have some ideas."
Of course she did, the conniving old biddy. He crossed his legs and leaned back in the chair.
"Hermione Granger."